Blue Box
by Bluest of Them All
Summary: A myriad of Doctor Who oneshots, things the television show didn't always tell...
1. Vortex

**Just a short on Rose, the Vortex, and Bad Wolf.**

The moment the vortex swirled into her mind, Rose knew she was going to die. The pure, raw energy of time itself just about burned her up, surging into her soul, her entire body, turning her veins to ice and molten lead at the same time, a scathing sensation that made her want to yell and cry and dissolve into nothingness- but no. One thought was coherent in all of the chaos and screaming, the collapse of her mind itself - Doctor.

She had to help the Doctor.

Without knowing what she was doing she reached across and began pushing buttons, cranking levers, working at a feverish pace, the vortex inside enveloping what little of her was left; she had to hurry. Hurry. Hurry. The word stuck inside of her, over and over like a broken record. There was nothing left to do, no one else to save; the only thing keeping her alive was the very thought of the Doctor and keeping him safe, keeping his two hearts beating...

The vortex knew. It knew all about him and what he had done, the regret he felt every day, the exact number of those children of Gallifrey, the consequences he had to pay for the sake of the universe, for the lives of everybody, even if it meant destroying himself and his future, living in constant peril and mental torture... And his eyes. She knew how old they would become. She knew how much he would deteriorate over the lives of those close to him, how attached he would become how plagued...but how great. How glorified. And he didn't care about the fame, about his name stretching far and wide across the stars as it inevitably would continue to do...all he wanted was to be at peace. He never would be.

She saw his future, and the future of everybody else in the world- anybody who had ever lived. It burned in her eyes like the stars themselves, the way the universe whispered in its intricate way, and the vicious circle of living and dying and all that comes in between...for what point? For existence itself? Even the vortex didn't know, and it seemed to know everything else, but perhaps there wasn't a point. Perhaps it was all for nothing. And she realized everything is going to go to ash and nothing will remember, there will be nobody or any form of consciousness to even do the remembering, but that doesn't matter. Even if it turns out to be nothing, it's a wonderful nothing. And the Doctor was the one who saves all of these nothings, all of these amazing people...and she loved him.

She saw the end and the beginning, and she knew what needed to be done. But she couldn't be Rose Tyler to do it.

She had to be the Bad Wolf.

**Yeah, that just about does it. Comment if you want idk.**


	2. Pond

If the Doctor was any one thing at that exact moment, he was tired. He slouched against the fading exterior blue of the once brilliant TARDIS, breath steaming in the chilly foreign air. His lungs fought to breathe as he allowed his head to dangle, pressing against its false wood corner, hand clawing at the handle of the door - but it was locked, of course; he had forgotten. With a strained click of his fingers, the Doctor waited, expecting the door to creak open as it always had. It didn't.

Inevitably, this began the tedious hassle of digging around in every pocket of his clothing for the concealed key, coming across a few other curious objects - a few books, his screwdriver, and a few gum wrappers...he had recently become quite fond of bubble gum flavor, which seemed to last a few amazing, sugary seconds before it faded into something pink like it, but not taking the likeness and filling the expectation of those first few moments. Finally he found the key, sticking it into the keyhole with fumbling fingers and a shaking hand. He stumbled inside, vision swimming, skin burning, and closed the door wearily behind him. He shrugged off his coat and let it fall to the ground, too preoccupied and exhausted to even pick it up and hang it up in any sort of dignified manner.

His hands hit the control board of the TARDIS, and he closed his eyes, fighting the wormy sensation that had just begun to wiggle inside and fill his stomach. When he dared to crack his eyes open he discovered, to his dismay, that they were beginning to glow, the golden milky regenerative substance radiating out of his body. He had known this was coming for a few weeks now; his current body had been getting old, and life continued to ebb out of him, his past fading away into the TARDIS in form of dust. He wasn't sure what cycle this was; he just knew he had lived for far too long, but was too afraid to do anything about it.

All of a sudden, a stab of panic hit him straight in the chest, rattling his two hearts - what if this was his last? He had officially ran out of regenerative energy of his own long ago he expected, but was loaned some when he regenerated into his twelfth (of sorts, even he himself wasn't sure exactly how that had all played out and somehow worked). But how much? He had escaped death, barely crawled out of its ragged fingers too many times to count, that he wasn't sure how he felt about it anymore. A blessing or a curse? A new adventure or one coming to an end?

Something was coming, he could feel it just around the corner - a new him, or his regenerative end? It was still too vague to tell - he wouldn't be able to tell for a few more minutes. Pain ricocheted around his entire body, throwing heat off in the form of gold rays. He wasn't sure who he was anymore - his past or his future? Old Doctor or new Doctor? The gold was growing sparser, thicker with every heavy breath he took, every time he groaned, every cell of his body on edge, waiting to strike...waiting to implode and completely rewrite themselves. The time was coming.

And without prior warning, he felt a surge of energy and adrenaline run through him, making him feel alive, arching his back, a laugh escaping his lips- and he burst.

Pain, unbearable pain surged through his entire body as none before, not even in his past regenerations. For a second he was held there, suspended in time, on the verge, looking over the edge of a yawning metaphorical cliff...and jumping.

There was a momentary pause between one and the next, between who he was and who he was about to become, a void of his past and future...and he _grew. _Every fiber of his being clicked into place, and two arms popped, two legs, a head, a brain...a rewired brain. A new brain. The features on his face seemed to shift and place themselves, the eyes flashing different colors, bound to land on one someday...and it was done.

He stood there, watching the golden rays float free and loose all around him, so beautiful, majestic..._and he was still alive. _He laughed, simply laughed in glee, his voice a bit higher than it had been and edged with a certain tint of youth, and he ran a cautious hand through his hair and examined its floppiness through the heightened nerves of his skin, fingering it, fled his tongue across his teeth...he wasn't every happy with them, as they were out of proportion, just a bit annoying...

His skin. His skin was an unnatural white, far too white for his liking...one regeneration back he had milky chocolate skin, which he had enjoyed while it had lasted. A man - he sighed with relief, he was still a man...as well as being black he was also female for that one regeneration, which was unusual for him, quite a game changer to be honest...

As always, it was even hard for himself to believe that he was in essence still the same person, the same soul, for he always felt so different...every freckle, every inch of freshly tingling skin, every letter of dialogue...every different way his brain was made up (his favorite was his tenth regeneration if he was truly honest with himself). In fact, he was wondering what the side effect would be this time...when a blinding headache hit him upside the head, throbbing with such force that he stumbled to the nearest chair, which happened to be in front of his moveable screen, which was blank...and he could see his reflection.

The first thing he noticed was the contortion of pain his new face had taken form of, such intensive concentration and loathing...his nose was a bit too large for liking, and his eyes had taken to a stunning blue, almost unnatural, but a bit too close together if you asked him. His eyebrows were skinnier than usual, and freckles were incoherently dashed across his nose and upper cheeks, although very fine freckles they were, extremely small. And his hair...an insane laugh burst out of his chest, and he winced, his head pulsing more than ever, clutching at a sudden stitch at his side...his hair was a fiery red, simply flaming. He was finally ginger.

Suddenly, in a burst of emotion, he sobbed, all of the happiness at being alive and having the right hair color for a change gone, evaporated. A stab of grief impaled him, his chest burning. He remembered, raising a finger to touch his hair in the discolored reflection, he remembered...

"Pond," he whispered.

** Yeah, just a random regeneration. A bit short, but the next one will be longer. The inspiration sort of came from Tumblr because I read one post about him becoming ginger and remembering Amy, so whoever originally posted that, creds to them. I'm thinking about doing Rose and Tentoo in the parallel universe and how she is wary of him at first but eventually begins to trust him..so yup. Comment, follow, and favorite this, all that good stuff, blah blah blah. :3**


	3. Impossible Girl

**Hi there lovely reader :3. My little muse has been silent so here's a last ditch oneshot because why not. So this is after Clara wants to make her decision on if to go with the Doctor or not, when he basically is confused by her and checks out some of her past lives. A bit of a rewrite. As I said, I would write something better if my muse would stop shutting me out... *irritated noise***

**But anyways.**

The Doctor wasn't planning on taking more than a slight detour to see only her current life's past before he hopped a day into Clara's future to receive her travel plans. Really, he wasn't. But with the Doctor...things tend to happen, usually quite quickly, and within a few seconds he was on a whole different track and mindset, on a distractive path. At least it was relevant this time.

It was just a simple 1840's bar, a small shack at the very edge of the much- too-small town, with the buildings mashed together along with the bricks, matchstick buildings pushed together to form just about one long building which spanned across the street. Not many people usually took notice of this (especially miniscule) corner of the town, shadowed and quiet with only a few visitors here and there, but those were just the kind of places the Doctor admired on his days off without any companions - somewhere quiet and peaceful with little for company, somewhere where he could analyze every tiny fact about a place down to its atoms without any interrupting humans to sidetrack him from his thoughts. Besides, this was the 1800s. He'd come to learn that almost anything goes during this era on earth.

He'd ordered a whiskey (which he would probably hate, but there was nothing else to order, really) and was tapping his fingers across the wooden table quite hurriedly, gazing around the nearly empty bar with heightened senses. The entire place was constructed with a once cherry brick that was now a bit faded, returning to a brown, but falling back to its restored bright color once you hit the inside from years of scrubbing. His nose picked up on the cleaning solvent they used a few years ago, which was tinged with a bit of sourness - he wrinkled his nose angrily, glancing to the other brown tables around him- all wooden. The bar itself was even made of wood with scratched leather seating, and only one waitress, slumped over in her seat, eyes half closed as if she were nearing sleep was tending to the bar. Lazy on the job he thought, but then again, there weren't many people to actually serve. The shelves behind her were stacked with endless bottles of liquor, some half empty and others filled to the very top, sectioned off with corks.

Only two other people resided in the cramped bar, both men - you didn't see women in places like this very often during this time. The first hadn't shaved in a while - the Doctor could see every individual whisker on his face, could smell the reek of liquor on his breath from across the room (which wasn't very large, mind you, but he could've sniffed it out a mile away), and could almost feel the rebellious leather adorning his clothing, see right into his drunken hazel eyes and declare that he had lost hope of his future.

The other man was at the end of the spectrum with a clean shaven face and only a small tinge of alcohol, but only on the clothes - he hadn't ordered anything yet. The way he held himself suggested a man of self respect and position, just out for the occasional drink. He had obviously been waiting for some time, the Doctor noticed; he fidgeted in his seat, linked his fingers together, even whistled to the waitress who only gave a startled snore and jump in her seat as an adequate answer. Just when he looked about to walk straight out of the place however, the back door slammed open and a figure in a dress swooped forward and delivered the man his drink, apologizing profusely. He simply nodded and accepted the drink gratefully, curling his worn fingers around the glass.

The waitress then swooped over to the Doctor's table and slammed down his whiskey, sending the drops flying, jabbering something in one breath that he could barely understand. He took a swig of the drink and met the waitress's eyes, wasting no time to spit the foul drink out immediately, half from the taste and half from the recognition of her round-ish face, a bit over shoulder long brown hair, voice, and pretty brown eyes peering out from behind the curtain ofhair.

"C-Clara?" he wheezed, choking from swallowing what little bit of the whiskey got into his mouth before its rejection down the wrong pipe (actually he had four different pipes it could've gone down, but now is no time to discuss those matters). She took no hesitation in setting down some other mugs and slamming him on the back, which only made him cough even harder.

"Not helping!" he gasped, regulating his breathing and letting his odd respitory bypass system take over the situation. She only grinned cheerfully, dimples prominent.

"Sorry sir! And it's Clare, not Clara...but how did you know?" she quipped, shooting him an odd, distasteful glance.

"Oh, you know...mutual friends. They say good things," he quickly added from the look of horror on her face which lessened slightly after his words.

"Oh. Okay. Well, enjoy your drink!" she chirped, rushing back to the back door, smacking the other waitress on the side of the head as she went. She woke up with a start, spilling liquor all over her front from the cup she had been loosely holding. "Hey!" she shouted, following Clare into the back room behind the cabinets.

The Doctor simply sat there, mind reeling. Another Clara? How was she doing this? Clara had been known to show up on many planets with many different purposes, none of which seemed connected, and each time she encountered him from a different life she didn't fully remember him. Oh, there were twinges of memory of course, he could see it in her eyes, in the tightening of her jaw, but otherwise...she was a mystery. Impossible.

He pulled out of his seat and out of the door, leaving the money on the table and taking the whiskey with him outside, although the minute the sunlight hit his face he tossed it into a nearby bush without hesitating.

The TARDIS greeted him with a buzzing hum as he opened its doors and the bigger on the inside room simply lit up, exposing the technological new control room with a flash. The lights ringing the control room whizzed in a fast frenzy, powering up. The circular holes in the walls dimmed on and off as the TARDIS wheezed and groaned, a strange sound for such a modern template he had now. At this point the old girl was just showing off, he knew - she would be playing fanfare if he didn't stop her (she actually did the first time he walked in, but he put a stop to that fairly quickly). To be honest, he fancied his old console much better (as the TARDIS knew and didn't seem to like), but he couldn't bear it - everything reminded him of the Ponds. He would set eyes on a certain spot and remember when Amy used to lounge across it, or when Rory would hang on to that particular rail when time travel in the vortex went wonky. So he kept out of the TARDIS for a few hours while she remodeled - saved a small town from a group of feral weasel-like aliens. A bit of a tall tale, but who's counting?

"You think you're just fantastic, don't you?" he muttered, closing the door behind him and sighing as he strolled up to the console and began pushing buttons and throwing down throttles at what seemed random. The TARDIS powered up, producing a happy but belligerent hum. "Oh, but you are," the Doctor laughed, patting the console fondly. "You certainly are..."

The TARDIS nudged at his mind, bringing him back on track. "Now, Clara," he spoke to himself, rubbing his hands together. "Clara, Clara, Clara..." He jabbed a few more buttons and pumped down a strange contraption, then slapped his hand on the console.

"She's been in here before. You can feel the residual energy, can't you? It wasn't that long ago," he spoke to the TARDIS, and it hummed in understanding. "Latch on to it. All of space and time, Sexy, you can find her!"

The TARDIS let out a wave of doubt that he could mentally feel brushing at the corners of his mind, but he chose to ignore them. "Come on, at least try!" So the TARDIS emitted a noise that could only be known as a grumble and began her work. Different phrases in all languages and seemingly random images popped up on the moveable screen, flashing at such a pace that even his hyper sensitive time lord eyes couldn't pick up (although he thought he saw a fez, but that was probably just his imagination; flash of red, could be anything). All at once, the console beeped. And beeped again.

And all sorts of coordinates jumped onto the screen, one, two, ten, fifteen...they quickly filled up the space on the screen and scrolled down and down and down, hudreds...the TARDIS again hummed, irritated, and he held up his hand whispering "stop." She quickly did so, grumbling. The Doctor reckoned some of them were versions of her that he had already seen; Dalek, her as yet another waitress, her present self, and probably more, so he quickly pressed on the first coordinate, dancing around the console and flicking random levers and pulleys as he went. His ballet ended as he hovered near the lever that would send them flying into Clara's past and inevitably future. His hand wavered as he reached towards it, just a tiny bit, but enough for him to notice.

"Geronimo," he whispered, and he rammed down the lever without hesitation this time.

The first thing he encountered was a gun pointed to his head, powering up. He flinched, ducking and attempting to swerve around it and close the door, but the alien wielding the gun did that for him, slamming the door of his ship shut and shoving him rowdily to his knees, slipping cuffs swiftly onto his wrists. He made a noise of indignation deep in his throat, shoving his head up despite the police alien's wrenching grip. She was quite a pretty specimen (not that he was noticing) with intricate golden swirls painting her face and neck and all down her arms, a humanoid figurine with the exception of an abnormally long neck and blue hair. Her eyes were a brazen brown and gold, but hardened with resolve and anger. She spoke in a tongue that the TARDIS automatically translated for him, although he didn't need it. He spoke far too many languages on his own.

"You are parking on private property without a license or appointment," she hissed, shoving the gun deeper into his temple. He groaned, putting his hands behind his head in submission. He seemed to be in an empty concrete room with slits that the three suns of the planet shined through in the sides, which seemed to have many levels. It actually looked remarkably like one of Earth's parking garages with some odd quirks and the violet sky peeking through what little bit of sky was exposed through the rectangular holes.

"Er, excuse me, private-?"

"Don't pretend you don't know, scum," she spit, dragging him to his feet.

"No, I really don-"

"Silence!" she screamed, drawing a blindfold over his eyes. He sighed, peering through it easily. Time Lord eyes weren't something to mess with. The parking garage, once he turned a corner, proved to be almost a military base; a plethora of soldiers mulled around, talking and musing, each dressed in the same attire as his capturer; bulletproof leather pants and jacket (tight fitting, it was the only way they could get the 'bulletproof' bit in) and standard stock combat boots, covered in official looking military seals. He wasn't sure what race they were (most likely a half breed) but he did know that he was in a degree of trouble.

"Sir, what do I do with this trespasser?" she yelled to her superior, another alien like her with shimmery blue swirls adorning his skin. He barely gave them a second glance.

"Two in one day? Standard protocol."

She nodded curtly and yanked him along, ramming her gun into his temple yet again as she ushered him into a different section of the building.

"Okay, enough with the gu-"

"You have no right to speak."

The Doctor quickly shut his mouth and bobbed his head up and down, a bit miffed.

Without warning she snapped her fingers and the once blank hall transformed in front of his eyes, the bare concrete melting into rooms lined with bars in different sections, the bars glowing with what he identified as a strange type of radiation, judging from the irony residue in the air. Suddenly, it all made sense - the officers, the cells. He had landed right into jail.

He was forcibly taken into a cell and she wasted no time locking it as he rebounded against the door from her shove. He grabbed a hold of the bars and yelped as they scalded his hands, smoking. She quickly prattled a list of syllables in her language that she obviously had memorized long ago but he had a hard time making out, something about his sentence being for an abundance of years (he couldn't make out the exact time) and how he had no say in the matter. Before he could even utter a single word she was gone, and he was surrounded.

A sour looking alien with a short body and odd protruding limbs leered at the Doctor from the cell across from him, grabbing onto the bars menacingly with all his sets of hands, completely ignoring the burning sensation that was probably searing through them (if he had any particular nerve endings, that is) and the smoke curling from them. The Doctor only emitted a half grin, amused. He could sense another alien somewhere in the premises, out of his eyeshot because of the sheer angle of the cells and their proximity. Of course there were around five more life forms around him but he didn't bother to-

"What brings you here, then?" a falsely innocent voice asked to his right. A familiar voice.

His head swiveled around and he accidently hit his head on the bars, sizzling into his forehead. He yelped, backing away several paces and the figure laughed at him through his fuzzy vision, clearing up by the second. Clara grinned cheekily at him through the bars, far too cheerful for somebody who had recently been thrown in jail like him. She was wearing dull grey clothing, a bit faded, and was sitting on the ground, legs loosely brought up to her chest, arms dangling around them.

"Well?" she asked expectantly, and he swallowed, fidgeting. This was odd, too odd...and every time, she had no idea who he was besides the slight recognition he saw in her eyes even now, the recognition she probably didn't realize she had. "I mean, I know I'm attractive and everything, but speak boy!" she said. The Doctor promptly turned scarlet, his mind jumping to when one of her past lives had suddenly kissed him with no warning, presumably just because she could. Clara seemed to be like that.

"Parked my ship in the wrong place," he admitted, although that wasn't what had really happened. He parked his ship in the right place, just an unfortunate one. She nodded, head tilted to the side.

"Yeah, I figured. You look like a traveler. And you actually talk! Dumpy over here won't say a word," she scowled, glaring over at the alien across from their cells that let out a fierce bark of anger. Clara only screwed up her face, barking back. "An annoying lot, them," she muttered. "I've never been quite fond..."

"Why are you here?"

"Oh, you know. Sneaking around. A boy," she said nonchalantly. He raised an eyebrow mischievously and she rolled her eyes. "There wasn't a boy, it was the only lie I could come up with on the spot. I've done better...besides, they lock you up for everything in these parts," she trailed off, turning her head to glance at something to her right.

"What's the real story, then?"

"You're ridiculous if you think I'm telling you," she scoffed, and the Doctor grinned. He quite liked Clara.

"Well...I think it's about time that I got out of here," he said, considering his work there done. Clara gave him an odd glance, a grin poking at her lips.

"And how do you expect to do that, yeah?" she asked. He clambered to his feet and began to wiggle around, leaning forward, and after a minute or two of intense concentration and embarrassment his sonic screwdriver fell out of his pocket, clattering as it hit the concrete floor. He scooped it up with one of his cuffed hands and quickly unlocked himself and his padlocked door, narrowly avoiding the radiation that would shock and burn him if he came in contact with it.

"They really should check through people like me and their possessions before they blindly throw them into prison cells," he said with the air of one talking about the weather. Clara grinned, face splitting.

"You can get me out then!" she cried, and the smile on his own face widened.

"I figure you'll come up with a way to get yourself out soon enough," he said, and he didn't doubt it. From what he'd seen of Clara, she wouldn't have much trouble. Besides, he didn't want to mess with this version of herself for too long. He wasn't sure what effect it would ultimately have.

Before she could say a word he was full out sprinting down the hall, hoping to avoid getting shot before he could reach the TARDIS.

He was close to his goal, but not quite.

The Doctor frowned as he finished up bandaging his wound (just a side scrape, nothing big) and the TARDIS made a noise that could only be described as affectionate laughter. He slapped the console, throwing the medical kit across the room carelessly. "Now!" he shouted, twirling around the controls, almost losing balance more than once and skidding on the toes and heels of his shoes. He then set the coordinates and shoved down the lever, grabbing on to a ledge, preparing for the herky-jerky motions of the time vortex. Nothing.

"C'mon then! What're you waiting for?" the Doctor groaned, jabbing a few more buttons. The TARDIS bucked against his control, letting loose a moaning noise. "What's the matter, huh?" All of the sudden the TARDIS puffed, taking off without warning. The Doctor fell to the floor, gasping, and the TARDIS trilled, bucking against the set coordinates. Sparks flew from the console as it screamed, whirling through space and time. He attempted to stand up but the gravity shifted again, sending him slamming into a nearby chair, flipping over, landing straight on his back.

"Ow!" he yowled, clambering to hit feet and lunging for the lever. The gravity shifted again, giving him an unexpected boost. He rammed into the console yet again, pressing a few buttons in a frenzy. "What's wrong with you?" he yelled, cranking a few gears into place. And all in one swift motion, they landed, skidding a few feet. He lost balance, falling over once again, and the TARDIS made a few whizzing noises, complaining. She obviously didn't want him to land...but why?

The Doctor didn't believe in meditation; he usually acted before a word escaped from his lips (in this regeneration, anyway), and this natural impulse was what made him slam open the door of the TARDIS, which opened to reveal loud pleasant music, an ensemble of curious aliens and humans alike. He seemed to be in the middle of a celebration, with a pink sky overhead that could barely be seen through the towering brick and mud buildings and the colorful sashes strung from tower to tower, all brightly colored a vibrant red, adorned with golden dragons. The entire town was swarming with life forms, all buying and exchanging goods from the wooden market carts such as necklaces, assorted goods, even different types of food, especially fruits. The Doctor knew the scene well. It was the Celebration of the Grand Beginning, a yearlong party of mingling he was well acquainted with and had visited several times at different parts of its many years.

He was quickly enveloped and taken into the crowd, swept along in the river of bodies. Different languages jabbered around him, disorienting, and he blinked profusely as the TARDIS hurriedly began to translate in his mind (although again he didn't need it). Yet through the hustle and bustle, he saw it, raising just a bit over it all - a flop of brown hair, messily attractive. He knew that hair. It had once been his, after all.

His 10th regeneration and Rose Tyler weaved through the crowd, chatting and laughing along with the others. The Doctor grinned nostalgically; he remembered those days. So carefree and wandering, almost every day a treat, along with his grand companion. He saw the way he smiled at her affectionately, their hands in a loose clasp, grinning ear to ear...those were the days. No wonder the TARDIS didn't want him to land; he was crossing his personal timeline, in serious danger of creating a paradox, although he figured as long as he kept out of their way everything would be fine.

So he made a wide circle around the happy pair and moved as their backs were turned, being pushed by the crowd into a side alley with not many people about. He quickly bustled down the alley; loners were more likely to be noticed, and that's what he was trying to avoid. But he couldn't help but notice the scuffle coming from his left, the sound of feet pounding against cobblestone pavement and labored breathing. He swung between the maze of alleyways between the buildings, swerving against tight corners and occasionally bumping into one with his clumsy grace.

Soon he saw them, keeping to the shadows. Garbage bins filled the narrow alleyway and let loose foul smells, absolutely reeking. He scrunched his nose, peeking an eye around a stray corner.

There the impossible girl was, completely surrounded by magnificently tall, light green aliens that hovered a few inches off of the ground and wore hoods around their heads, creating an odd look to them. Their skin was completely covered with bumps and abrasions and seemed to smoke, creating a hissing noise. Just being around them brought goose bumps to his skin, a low level telepathic field quite obviously designed to make people irrationally fear them.

"Where is the Doctor?" they hissed, and his time lord blood ran completely cold. What could they possibly want with him? Well, there was actually a variety of things they could want (he stole their queen once, long story - a bit of an accident, actually), but why would they ask Clara? He didn't remember coming into contact with her in his 10th regeneration, but then again, time could have gone wibbly and something could prevent him from remembering...

"Find him yourself," she snarled, backing against the wall in a defensive position, casually dressed in a skirt and white jacket, running shoes wedged on her feet (half dressed for practicality it seemed). Over her shoulder a bag was slung, already unzipped. She was balancing on her toes as if about to take off into sudden flight to escape, a sarcastic grin pasted on her face.

"We will acquire your assistance whether you like it or not," they steamed. She simply nodded.

"You know, you may want to rethink that," she muttered.

"Why, Clara Oswald?"

"Because I've got a purse."

With no warning she swiped a golden glowing ball out of her purse and a bubble of force field ballooned around them. She jabbed a few buttons into it. A code. "Good bye, boys," was all she said before the ball detonated, filling the air with a golden light but just staying inside the boundaries of the force field. The Doctor yelled, quickly coming out of his hiding space, but it was too late - they were already dust, shimmering in the pink light of the sky. Tears filled his eyes and threatened to spill over as he raced to the remains, sonicing them. Nothing. They were completely gone.

He'd only seen weaponry like that in...Daleks. One had killed itself in a similar way in his 9th regeneration, he saw it happen. How did she get her hands on that? A sick feeling churned in his stomach. Things were beginning to make a tiny bit of sense; there were connections, subtle but definitely there in all of her lives that he had discovered so far. She had once been a Dalek. She had Dalek technology. At this point, nothing else would surprise him.

But why did she continue to sacrifice herself for him? What was the meaning of this?

The TARDIS had no problem at all with his next journey; it sailed swiftly along. Soon enough he was stepping out of the door to an autumn sunset, definitely on Earth. The leaves painted the trees a beautiful array of gold, red, and yellow, swaying with the breeze. The single sun was lazily drifting down the sky, taking its good old time, and he seemed to be in a cozy backyard, assorted with a swing set and a tire swing. Well, it wasn't much of a tire swing anymore - the tire laid on the ground a few feet away from the lonely rope hanging down from the sturdy branch, and an amazingly young Clara was curled up inside of it, four or possibly five. Her chest rose and fell peacefully as the wind brushed across the landscape, fluttering her shirt. The Doctor preformed a quick sonic scan, but there seemed to be no danger nearby.

He watched the tiny figure, smiling, but with a feeling of dread sinking inside of his stomach, anchoring reality. This seemed to be the young Clara from the one he knew now, and she had absolutely no idea what she would grow up to be. She would see aliens and new worlds, travel in time and space and have hundreds, maybe even millions of different, separate lives...she would be a beautiful mystery. Yet there she slept, oblivious.

The Doctor shook his head, strolling back into the TARDIS. He rubbed the console after he stepped inside, smiling. "Good work, old girl," he muttered, dropping his hand, and the TARDIS hummed proudly. She really had an ego, that one, he mused. Suddenly it made an alarming noise, one he had never heard before - somewhere between a laugh and a cry of fear. He whirled around, and there she was, parked inside of his TARDIS, jaw open wide.

"Is this magic?" Clara questioned in a hushed voice, looking around. The Doctor let out a short yelp of "no!" and rushed towards her, sweeping her off of her feet, jogging lightly and carrying her out of the TARDIS and plopping her back down. Her mouth dropped even lower if it was even possible.

"But it's so little!" she trilled, her voice premature. The Doctor sighed, rubbing his hands across his face and scouring his hair as the little girl gazed up at him with adoration and wonder, reverence even. He knew human children had a much higher telepathic field than the adults, more receptive to the things around them, and he wondered what she was picking up from him to make her stare like that, all the stars of the galaxies present in her eyes.

"No, not magic, just science," he muffed, bending down to his knees, staring into her eyes. He couldn't do this to her, couldn't imperfect the already running wild timeline. He placed his fingers on her temples, concentrating.

"What are you doing?" she hummed, not seeming quite concerned.

"A magic trick," he responded, grinning. She returned the favor with more than a few missing teeth. Lost them fast, he thought.

Quickly as to not distract her he quietly reached into her mind and she let out a tiny gasp of surprise. He snatched her memory of the TARDIS and extracted it, inserting it into his mind instead. Her eyes promptly rolled into her head and he caught her as she fell, scooping her into his arms. The Doctor held her minute figure over his shoulder and swiftly placed her back inside of her tire in the same position as she was before. She would wake up from her nap and not remember a thing.

The TARDIS whirred as he entered the control room and he sighed heavily, leaning onto the console. The space time coordinates leered at him, a challenge that he wouldn't yet accept. He figured he'd had enough of Clara for one day.

**This took me a few days to write, mostly because I was busy and because my muses suck. You see that little review button down there? Yes, there, right there. It loves you. Love it back by writing a review. :3 Any suggestions/opinions would be greatly appreciated (even ideas if you feel like it)! Love you guys.**


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